


trade the souls of children

by MonsterParade



Category: IT (1990), IT - Stephen King, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: Gen, I wanted to do this and so I did, and Pennywise annoys its neighbor, children are exchanged as food for favors, just a lot of weird bullshit, the weirdest crossover nobody fucking wanted, wherein the Beast is forced to socialize
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 05:37:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20615861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterParade/pseuds/MonsterParade
Summary: it's getting to be autumn now, so I thought I'd mash my two very favorite Spooky Boys together for the hell of it.(Pennywise is somewhere between the book version and the 1990 version, mostly-- it's all clown all the way down regardless)





	trade the souls of children

The Beast is tending to the furthest reaches of his forest when it happens.  
  
He is knelt down in the ice, checking on the progress of a growing Edelwood that lies near the very border of his territory, with his back, perhaps unwisely, to the strange aberration that he has grown so accustomed to that he rarely more takes note of it-- it is a place he has found where reality seems to be thin, worn distressed and threadbare by the presence of great, old magic pressing it from either side. Through it is a foreign summer wood, visible as if through a window in space-time, and the Beast can hear the _kree_ of the insects that inhabit its wild leaves through that window, can hear the rush of the muddy river that runs through it.  
  
The first time he had come across this aberration, he had been suitably confused, and had spent a long time testing its borders with both branch and antler before deeming it airtight. As long as nothing could flow across this warping patch of space and enter his dominion...he had supposed there was precious little he could do to complain about it.  
  
That was a long time ago now. A very long time ago. He has since met the creature that owns those Other woods, and now he does find that his complaints hold a little more water.  
  
The thing that dwells in those woods, across the threadbare space in dimensions, it is a _wild_ thing; not an animal, no, but animalistic, and erratic, and sometimes markedly unhinged.  
  
It is also an _old_ thing, perhaps nearly as old as the Beast himself, give or take a few million years, and although they have now known of the presence of each other for a few millennia past, the Beast is honestly still not quite sure what he thinks of it.  
  
What he thinks of _It_, he should say. He has felt the weight the creature puts into the descriptions of Itself.  
  
It calls Itself _Pennywise_\-- a frivolous name for a frivolous being, not even given by humans, as the Beast's had been, but chosen _intentionally_\-- and It has seemed to make it something of a habit over the past few thousand years to stand at their borders and gibber at him when he passes.  
  
He is just as prone to ignoring the thing as he is to actually acknowledging It.  
  
It likes to talk (_by god does It like to talk_), and It makes jokes he cannot follow and references to things that either do not or cannot exist in his reality, but by and large, aside from the aggravation It adds to his patrols when he makes his gradual rounds, It has never tried to poach his game or breach his borders, and he has never had to take any action against It. He supposes that must make It a relatively decent neighbor.  
  
At any rate-- it is at these borders, near that soap-bubble warp in space-time, that the Beast now hears that tell-tale, godawful crashing.  
  
For just a moment he is startled, and then he turns, stands, and sighs. He doesn't quite know when he started sighing, but he doesn't think he likes that he's picked up the habit.  
  
The Beast stands in his frozen wood and watches.  
  
He listens to the crackle and snap of green wood as something approaches, his head ever so slightly tilted, expecting to see his neighbor,  
  
and so finds himself surprised, mildly surprised, when what barrels out of the foliage is not a clown-creature but a human being.  
  
The Beast considers it. The human does not see him.  
  
The human does not see the borders at all, in fact; humans have precious little in the way of perceiving things outside of their meager five senses; they cannot see magic or feel its pull, and so he is not surprised when the human's eyes slide right past him as if he is not there at all and continue staring off into some continuation of the summer woods that he cannot see.  
  
It is a young human, not yet even into adolescence, a boy child, he thinks, and the child's skin is laced and bloodied with small cuts. His skin is grimy with dirt.  
  
The Beast takes a curious step closer, until he stands directly in front of the boy if not for the edge of his territory separating them. The boy is panting from exertion, and he looks wild-eyed, filled with abject terror. The Beast can guess who it is that he's been running from.  
  
Surely enough, the child rests for not even a full minute before an answering crackle of underbrush kicks up along the path he'd come, and he emits a high little animal shriek of terror and freezes like a rabbit with his hands up to his face.  
  
"Hm." the Beast says.  
  
Pennywise the Dancing Clown comes hurtling through the trees like It's been shot from a sling, and the Beast is forced to squint and close one of his eyes as he takes in Its multiple forms and watches them double up over each other, overlapping queerly.  
  
On one plane of vision, the Beast can still see Pennywise-- the real Pennywise, that is, or at least the form that It has chosen to reside in whilst It tears about in the physical world-- that is to say, the clown. But on _another_ plane, blurring into the other, the Beast sees that It has taken the form of a hideous monkey, with coarse black hair and grasping fingers, and it is this monkey that causes the human boy to scream again.  
  
"_Stop!"_ the child screams pointlessly, as his fear finally compels him to move again.  
  
"Won't stop 'till you're wearing your guts for a necktie!" Pennywise replies, but the screech of the monkey overlays Its gleeful voice.  
  
Pennywise swings down from a branch and makes a grab. In both forms Its teeth gnash, serrated and closing like the jaws of a steel trap, but the boy is quick and small and ducks beneath It, evading Its grasping fingers, and black earth flies as the two of them kick up a fuss in their mortal struggle. The boy hits the ground on hands and knees and scrambles.  
  
The Beast is lucky that he steps back when he does-- it's only on reflex, as the child lunges towards the borders of their realities in his bid for escape, much like a creature trapped under ice-- but then, to his genuine surprise, the boy hits that barrier between their worlds and _passes through_, with no more fanfare than a warping of that threadbare space like the broken surface of a pond.  
  
The Beast reels back with his furs drawn to him and moves to the side before the boy can collide with him.  
  
On the other side of the border, Pennywise comes to a screeching halt and stares after the child in wall-eyed non-comprehension.  
  
"_Hey!"_ It exclaims, as if that will fix things.  
  
The child does not hear It.  
  
The child is skidding to a stop in the white ice at the Beast's feet, the shock of the sudden change from sticky summer to biting winter evident in the jolt of his little body, and he stares around, bewildered, and actually makes eye contact with the Beast.  
  
"_What?"_ the boy mewls. The word is barely even out his mouth before his eyes roll back in his head, showing only whites, and then he drops to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, succumbing, the Beast can only suppose, to a cognitive dissonance he was not built to withstand. His limbs flop into the snow, and his skin immediately grows pale from the cold.  
  
There is silence for a long minute, and then the Beast kneels down to inspect the child.  
  
"That's _mine!"_ Pennywise snaps on the other side of the barrier, Its hands pressed flat to the space It cannot pass through as the form of the monkey melts away and leaves only the clown again. Its painted face is twisted into a grotesque expression of surprise and anger, and the Beast glances up at it as he checks the body in the snow. The boy is still alive. He's only fallen unconscious.  
  
He can feel the boy's fear, too, residual and fading as it may be. He reeks of it, steeped in it, and the Beast nearly sneezes as he stands back up and faces the clown proper, considering It deeply.  
  
"That child is **_mine,_**" Pennywise repeats, with more venom this time. "Give it back."  
  
Its voice has changed from its usual queer giggle into something deeper, raspier, something that bubbles out from around a distended mouth full of many many teeth, and, having no eyebrows to raise, the Beast blinks once, slowly, and lets the demand hang in the air.  
  
This is not an opportunity to be passed up.  
  
"...Is it?" the Beast finally asks, still and cool as the frozen woods around him. "It lies in my wood. The child is in _my_ forest."  
  
"**I had it first! You _saw_ it! He's-- _hee hee_ he's _mine_, and I'm _hungry_.**"  
  
The Beast hums a single note, as if contemplating, and nudges the fallen child with his foot.  
  
"He was despairing when you chased him in here. His potential is nearly full to bursting," the Beast says, "He will make a lovely Edelwood. Big and strong. I suppose I should thank you. It is not often I have someone to do my hunting _for_ me."  
  
He cannot smile, but he gives his head a pleased little bobble, and he's certain that the clown can hear the satisfaction lacing his voice as he needles It. He watches Pennywise's eyes widen with shock and further offense, and then close almost entirely as the creature twists Its form until Its lips split Its face, and jagged claws tear through the white gloves over Its hands as It makes a furious sound and attacks the barrier between them with talon and tooth. It seems unaccustomed to being bested, because It is nearly beside Itself with rage.  
  
The Beast watches It scrabble and listens to It swear and roar, and dares to step closer until they are nearly face-to-face, separated by only that aberration. He gracefully lifts a hand and presses it to the space between them, and waits for Pennywise to calm down.  
  
A new Edelwood _would_ be a boon, yes, but he is not so short-sighted as that (especially given that he is not short of food at the moment; he feels he has a little wiggle room). The child at his feet presents a much more unique opportunity.  
  
When, after a minute or so, the Beast has shown no fear and refuses to flinch away from Pennywise's onslaught, the lack of a reaction finally seems to affect the clown, and, like a child who has been ignored for what may be the first time, he watches It slow and then finally stop, Its tongue lolling out, a look of confusion now on Its face. The Beast pats the barrier, and Pennywise growls softly, but Its form is finally shifting back into its most standard humanoid shape.  
  
Its jagged buck teeth poke down past Its lips, and Its mouth twists into a pout. It crosses Its arms.  
  
"You _want_ something?" It guesses. The Beast nods. Pennywise laughs. "What could I possibly give _you?_ Other than a whallop, which'd be _free_ of charge, on the house for _you_, boo," It continues, making a fist and bumping it against the barrier, giggling harder as if this is suddenly something very funny. The Beast blinks, but then shakes his head.  
  
Best to just ignore the things the clown says. It's liable to become incomprehensible at a near point.  
  
"A debt." the Beast finally answers, drumming his fingers against the warp in space. It creates a tingling pressure at his fingertips, and it makes the frozen wood that makes up his body crackle with the movement. "You will owe me a favor."  
  
"Oh! Oh-_hoh!_ You want _me_ in your hip pocket? Wanna keep ooool' Pennywise on the back burner, huh? Save it for a rainy day? Is that what this is?" Pennywise hoots, and the laughter returns with even greater force as the clown clutches Its stomach, miming Its own amusement. "And what if I don't keep it? Huh? What are you gonna do then?"  
  
The Beast supposes that if that happened, if Pennywise went back on Its word, there would be precious little he could do about it, wouldn't there? Not with that warp between them. But...  
  
"You will," the Beast tells it without emotion, and only a gentle incline of his head.  
  
Promises to a human may not mean a thing, may be only lies spun off a silver tongue-- but between _greater_ things, _older_ things, such as the clown and the Beast himself, there are unspoken laws that govern them, unseen _bindings_ to their forms, and the Beast is willing to bet that even across dimensions, Pennywise is bound to a similar compulsion to honor a promise to Another.  
  
The Beast is at least willing to stake a meal on it.  
  
Pennywise stops laughing and licks Its lips.  
  
"You drive a hard bargain," It says, leaning faux-casually up against the barrier between them as if against a wall. It's beginning to sound more impressed than it is angry, a blessing if only so the terrible ruckus It makes in Its anger will cease, and it drops the lid of one yellow eye in a wink that borders obscenely on flirtatious. The Beast finally twitches back, as if disgusted. "Alright, sure! If that's what it takes, I'll owe you one. Pay you back later," It continues, and tacks on a gesture at the end that the Beast doesn't recognize, jerking a hand back and forth in front of Its face and bulging out one of Its cheeks.  
  
It then shrieks with laughter and nearly falls down slapping Its own knees, and the Beast shakes his head and opts to ignore what evidently must have been some sort of insult that has flown over his head.  
  
Pennywise is starting to grate on his nerves.  
  
"Do you want the child or not." he interrupts flatly.  
  
Pennywise giggles a little more, but at least seems to make an effort to get Itself under control, and It pretends to wipe a tear from Its eye before straightening back up and holding Its hands out, palms up, opening and closing them.  
  
"Alrighty-o, bargain made! Give me the kid then, night's gettin' old."  
  
The Beast nods, and then turns back and stoops down to gather up the child. The boy is limp and cold in his arms, his limbs dangling, his head tucked up against the Beast's fur-covered chest, and his eyes are closed tight, snowflakes in his lashes, his face pale and strained. If he were a human, the Beast imagines the sight would fill him with remorse or pity, but he is not, and he feels nothing in particular about the child he holds.  
  
He carries him to the barrier. He has only been assuming that the child can be passed back through at all; if he can't, then this whole aggravating conversation has been for naught, and the Beast may well have made himself an enemy (an enemy who cannot reach him, but an enemy nonetheless). Pennywise watches his return with a sharpness to Its eyes and a film of drool beginning to cover the curve of Its lips.  
  
The Beast pauses right up against the rift to consider the best way to get the child back across. He can't just hand him over-- the Beast can't penetrate the warp in space himself, at least not in a way he's yet discovered.  
  
Pennywise seems to be considering the same line of thought.  
  
"Just throw him," It suggests, stepping back a little and holding out Its arms.  
  
"I am not throwing him," the Beast replies, some of his exasperation finally leaking into his voice. He says it as if he simply will not lower himself so such a childish method of transferring something-- but that is only half of the truth. The other half is; he simply isn't strong enough to be assured that the boy would get all the way through. He is young, but he is not _small_, and he's quite hefty where he hangs in the Beast's grasp as deadweight. He could get caught halfway through...or worse yet, the Beast might try to pitch him and fail completely, and then be subject to a fit of laughter from his neighbor that would rock the very trees with its volume.  
  
He would never hear the end of it.  
  
No, he wasn't going to throw him.  
  
After another moment of deliberation, the Beast finally bends and sets the child down in the snow again, his head pointed towards Pennywise, his sneakered feet towards the Beast...grabs hold of the boy's waist, just and gives him a good shove.  
  
The boy's unconscious form skids easily across the icy ground, and even that momentum is enough to slide him most of the way across the barrier he'd come from, which he passes back through without any obvious trouble. Pennywise guffaws as the child bumps to a stop in the wet grass on the bank of the Kenduskeag again, and the Beast straightens back up and dusts his hands.  
  
"I have work to do," the Beast says then, by way of a goodbye, and starts to turn away again and walk back into his orchard, happy enough to leave the clown and the unconscious boy behind him. He can hear Pennywise dragging the child the rest of the way back into Its grasp, but stops again as a thought occurs to him. He turns around again.  
  
Pennywise blinks back at him, the child slung over Its shoulder like a sack of flour, and raises Its eyebrows.  
  
"It occurs to me that I have never witnessed you feed," the Beast says, in a moment of uncharacteristic curiosity. He is aware that in some way, shape, or form the clown eats the children, but he has never thought to inquire of the details; although he can only assume from Pennywise's sharp teeth that it is in an altogether more intestinal manner than he.  
  
Pennywise wrinkles Its nose and grins, propping up Its free hand on Its hip.  
  
"And maybe you never will. Or maybe you never won't! Who knows!" it chortles, nonsensically. The Beast starts to feel that if he were able to get headaches, this might be what one felt like. He turns away for the last time that day and immediately abandons the question.  
  
"A mystery, then." he relents, as he walks away.  
  
"Hey, Sleepy Hollow, I'll see ya when I see ya! You're a ball and a half!" he hears It call after him.  
  
"Mm."  
  
Something buzzes and tweets behind him, some kind of annoying tinny instrument, and then Pennywise adds, as the Beast fades back into the frost and the trees,  
  
"Enjoy your I.O.U.! Call me! It's a date!", with a hiccup and an awful laugh.  
  
The Beast massages his temples as Pennywise's voice is finally covered by the slate of snow between them. Silence at last. That was well enough socialization for another century or so.


End file.
